This
incident reminded me of something much larger, a decade before in New Zealand.
Many New Zealanders opposed the South African rugby team coming to play New
Zealand's national rugby team, planned for 1973. Their slogan was, "Don't
import apartheid sport!" The New Zealand protest was part of a series of
sports campaigns in the British Commonwealth putting pressure on South Africa
to abandon apartheid.

The
New Zealand campaign invited me to facilitate a series of training camps in
preparation for their direct action. The training was to serve three purposes:
to bring together organizers from a variety of movements (including environmental,
Maori, and women's) to learn popular education methods of training, to train
trainers for the anti-apartheid campaign itself, and to create a context for
the main leaders of the anti-apartheid campaign to gain more unity and
strategic cohesion.

New
Zealand's right wing got wind of my being invited and launched a national
petition drive to ban me from the country, on the grounds that I was a known
foreign agitator whose work threatened the public order. But the government
allowed me in, and the petition drive ensured that our three weeks of trainings
were done in the glare of media attention--a positive thing in itself.

The
last of the three trainings focused on the anti-apartheid activists and
leaders. I knew ahead of time about the differences that divided them and their
competitiveness with one another. I led an intense simulation that lasted over
12 hours and brought the entire camp to the point of exhaustion and fresh
insights. At that point, the training turned into a planning session that brought
the movement into strategic unity for the first time.

At
the end of that training, the head of New Zealand's national police force asked
to see me, "off the record." He said that after all the media attention and
national controversy I'd gotten, he needed to meet me personally. We had a
vigorous interchange, and when the conversation turned to the South African
rugby team, he said he would recommend to the government that it prevent the
team's visit. "You've won," he said.

"How?"
I asked.

"The
leadership at the camp created a strategy we can't beat," he said, "and the
nonviolent training program reinforces the strategy. If the rugby tour
happened, it would be a disaster for the government."

I
tested his conclusion, asking about various repressive options the government
might have at its disposal, like calling out the troops to back up the police.
He explained why each option would end poorly for the government and probably
cost it the next election.

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From
back home in Philly, I followed subsequent events and, indeed, without the
grassroots movement having to implement its direct action campaign--and to the
fury of hard-core rugby fans--the government canceled the South African rugby
team's tour.

It
may be time to experiment more with using training as a form of action. In
April, the Earth Quaker Action Team climaxed its 200-mile Green Walk for Jobs and Justice with a
training in Pittsburgh, on the sidewalk in front of the national headquarters
of PNC Bank.

First,
there were attempts to deliver an invitation to PNC's CEO to meet with us.
Then, people from Appalachian coal country talked about the suffering they
experience from mountaintop removal coal mining and called on PNC Bank to stop
funding extreme extraction, including fracking.

Finally,
the walkers staged a practice action, complete with role-playing police
"arresting" demonstrators in a sit-down on the sidewalk.

The
excitement of the training slowed traffic on the busy downtown street. EQAT
staff organizer Zach Hershman, who facilitated the training, said through the
bullhorn, "We need to practice so we're ready to return to Pittsburgh and stage
a sit-in in the bank."

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After
the role-play was over, Zach asked for a show of hands on how many had previously
done direct action. Many had not. After the event was over I turned to a
gray-haired woman next to me who had not raised her hand and asked her about
that. Her face turned thoughtful.

"When
I was young in the civil rights days, I knew racism was wrong but I didn't join
the sit-ins. I was scared. Then the anti-Vietnam war protests started and I
agreed with them, but I was too scared to join."

She
paused, and looked right at me. "But now," she said, "I'm not scared any more."

Paul Roden is a long time activist DFA & PDA member working for progressive change in America. I am also the point of organizer for PDA, the Progressive Democrats of America in Lower Bucks County. I am a "Neighborhood Leader" or "Victory Precinct (more...)